Riders in the Night
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: Written for the Spook Me 2013 challenge. Napoleon and Illya are sent on a mission to observe a THRUSH encampment, but they take a wrong turn along the way.


Man from UNCLE – ghosts

They had been riding for a long time, both men lost to their own thoughts. Napoleon was chewing on various scenarios for their mission, Illya was simply enjoying being out of the city.

"How much longer, Illya." Napoleon arched up in his saddle, stretching his back. It had been a long time since he'd been horseback riding.

"It should be just ahead. Mr. Waverly said that there would be a local to meet us and show us to the ranch house."

"Will he know anything of our mission?"

"I think not, at least Mr. Waverly did not let on otherwise." Illya shifted the reins to his other hand and took off his battered Stetson. It looked as if it had seen better days when, in fact, it had been brand new last week. The agents in Section Eight enjoyed their job a little too much at times. He scratched his week old beard and sighed. "It is lovely out here."

Napoleon glanced around. "It's okay if you like this sort of thing."

Illya grinned and then pointed. "Look! There he is." There was a man sitting astride a light grey horse in the shade of an aspen tree. He had the look of someone who had been waiting a long time and Illya gave his horse's ribs a gently kick. The mare tossed her head and snorted. "Why do I always get the temperamental ones?"

"It's because you don't know how to treat a lady, Illya." Napoleon's horse didn't seem any happier, but Napoleon kept him under a tight reins. He waved at the man, who merely looked back. "Good morning. Sorry we are late. I'm Napoleon Solo and this is my partner, Illya Kuryakin."

The man slowly took their measure and merely touched his dusty white hat. "Jericho. Follow me."

Napoleon and Illya exchanged glances and followed Jericho down the trail. The trail forked and he turned left. Illya frowned and looked as if he was going to protest.

"What's wrong?" Napoleon murmured softly.

"I thought we'd be heading east."

"Can't." Jericho said. "River's running high."

"Oh."

The trail eventually petered out to nothing more than a thin ribbon of dirt among the tall grass and weeds. Then, abruptly, it fell away to reveal a large cleared section. A two-story house stood with a smaller structure behind it.

"History, Illya?"

"Elias Danworth was considered one of the region's leading cattle barons. He frequently locked horns, as it were with Luke Vanderhorn, a sheep rancher. The meadow in front of us was considered one of the best grazing sites and Danworth would stop here and let his cattle rest during the drive from the summer to winter fields. He build that house for his family and a bunkhouse for the cowboys.

One summer he got word that Vanderhorn was up here letting his sheep take the grass down to the bedrock, as sheep are wont to do. Danworth grabbed a mess of his cowboys, determined to have it out once and for all."

Jericho had half-turned in his saddle, apparently listening to everything Illya said. 'Go on."

"Well, that's were things get a little dicey." Illya shook his head. "Vanderhorn was here, but according to witnesses, he was just passing through on the way back to his main grazing site. Danworth showed up and there was an ugly confrontation. question that was never answered was who threw the first punch, as it were. One version has Danworth lying in wait and ambushed them as they got ready to ride out to the herd.. The other version is that Vanderhorn knew they were coming and killed them as they rode across the meadow towards the main house. The sad reality is that several men were killed that day, including Danworth and Vanderhorn."

"All that bloodshed over a piece of land." Napoleon shook his head sadly. "It looks as if there would have been plenty of room up here for both of them."

"Hardly a first for your country," Illya said. "Or mine. As for sharing, that wasn't part of the plan. Danworth's widow gave the place to the park service and they have been keeping the property up, renting it out to guests."

"How far off is our party?"

"About a quarter mile from the end of the meadow, there's another settlement. Since the family still has an agreement with the park service, employees get to stay up here for free and that's where we come in."

"We are Danworth employees?"

Illya grinned, tilted his hat back and spit. "Yup."

"Oh, Illya, tell me it isn't so. Tell me you haven't gone… where did Jericho get off to?" Napoleon twisted around, but the man had vanished, then Napoleon spotted him, walking the fence line, using a crutch to hobble along. "How did he get down there so fast?"

"Probably knows a secret path." Illya encouraged his horse on and after a moment, she began to trot towards the house. Napoleon's horse followed. "They must know something we don't," Illya shouted back.

They had just gotten the horse into a small-covered shelter beside the bunkhouse when fat drops starting to splat against the dusty ground.

"We got here just in time," Ilya said, uncinching the saddle and lifting it from his horse's back. She was happy munching hay and took little notice excepting the twitch her back. Illya smiled and got a brush.

Napoleon was, likewise, tending to his horse. "It was nice of them to lay in hay and oats for these guys."

"Mr. Waverly said there would be supplies for us in the main house. There's no electricity, but the water and plumbing works. No hot water, though."

Napoleon scratched under his chin, his eyes closed in pleasure. "I'd forgotten how much these itch."

"We can only hope that THRUSH doesn't easily see through these disguises." Illya picked up a set of saddle bags. Now the only question is, how are we going to get to the house without getting drenched?"

"Look at it this way. At least you won't have to worry about a shower."

The rain continued long into the afternoon and evening. They set about exploring their temporary home, noting entrances and, more importantly, exits.

"I think we might as well stay down here this evening." Illya had a fire going in the wood burning stove and the kitchen was warm. The kitchen blended into a long living room with windows on three of the four sides. There was a saggy couch, some chairs that had seen better days and a trio of mismatched end tables. There was a surprising lack of dust and the room looks as if it had been recently cleaned.

Napoleon dug a coin from his pocket. "Head or tails?"

"For what?"

"The couch."

Illya glanced over at it and chuckled. "It's all yours. I will trust my back to the floor."

Napoleon joined in with a laugh of his own. "I see what you mean." He walked over to crack open a window for some air and paused.

"Illya, come and look at this." His partner's tone was all Illya need to abandon his task and join him.

"What is that?"

Moving through the dark in the middle of the meadow was a line of lights, each bobbing at regular intervals.

"THRUSH?"

"On a night like tonight? I don't' think they have a clue we are here. After all, there has been a steady stream of visitors here. What would two more matter to them? Could you grab the night vision goggles?" Illya left and returned a moment later, shoving the binocular-like device into Napoleon's outstretched hand.

"Anything?"

"No, just vague shapes. It must be the rain."

There were several low rumbles and Illya frowned. "That sounded more like gunfire than thunder."

"Don't know, but it send our fine-feathered friends to ground. They've vanished." Napoleon let the goggles drop. "Recon now or in the morning?"

"The morning, I think. If that was THRUSH and we suddenly show signs of interest, it might tip our hand. Tomorrow we will merely be two ranch hands riding the fence line."

Illya smiled and nodded. "You are right."

Illya wasn't sure what woke him. For a moment, he was still, listening, but there was merely the sound of crickets and wind creeping through the partially open window. Illya opened his eye, still unmoving, but nothing seemed out of ordinary in the room. He sat up and looked again.

Napoleon was nothing more than a huddled lump to his right. Illya tossed back to top of his sleeping bag and stood to pull on his jeans. Barefoot he edged up to the closest window and peered out.

The rain had stopped and the moon had risen, full and dressed on clouds. Walking up the path to the house was a column of men, glowing eerily I the moon light.

"Napoleon!" Illya turned to half whisper, half shout at his partner. When Napoleon didn't move, Illya reached down, grabbed a damp towel, wadded it into a ball and threw it at an approximation of where he thought Napoleon's head would be. The resulting movement and curse was gratifyingly prompt.

"What?"

"Your friends are back and they are headed this way."

Napoleon was up and dressed in a matter of seconds. "Why are they glowing?"

"Too much time in Nevada or the Bikini Islands?" Illya found his pistol and check the clip. "Shall we go have a chat with them?"

"Too late. It looks like Jericho beat us to it."

The old cowboy was hobbling up the path toward the others. He was apparently shouting, but the words weren't making it back to the ranch house.

"What's he saying?"

"No idea." Illya frowned. "They aren't that far off. We should be able to hear them." Then Illya grabbed his jacket and tucked his weapon into a pocket. "I'm going." Illya sat to pull on his socks and boots,

"I'm right behind him." Napoleon mirrored Illya's actions and together they walked out onto the porch. "Illya, what the hell is that?"

Napoleon pointed to a carriage, draped with black bunting. The carriage's appearance was odd enough, but this one was cutting a path through the sky.

"They've no right!" Jericho turned to glared back at the UNCLE agents and then at the others. "They were backstabbing murderers and cutthroats."

"Which ones did you kill, Mr. Danworth – the backstabbers or the cutthroats?"

"They ambushed us while we slept. They crept through the fields and cut us down," Jericho snapped, blocking the path. The carriage had landed, the horses pawing nervously at the ground as if it was an unfamiliar feeling beneath their hoofs.

"Where were your men?" Napoleon came down the steps from the front porch and stood before Jericho. The others weaved and moaned, staring at nothing but the carriage.

"Waiting. I knew he'd try something like this. You can't trust him."

"He's dead," Illya said softly. "So are you, Jericho."

"I have to protect what's mine." Jericho gestured back at the house.

"They don't want that." Illya pointed to the carriage. "They want that. They want to rest."

"I don't trust them." Jericho's voice broke. "This is all I have left."

"We'll keep it safe, Jericho," Napoleon said, drawing his weapon. "We won't let them take it. Let them pass."

"Trust us." Illya's weapon was also out.

"I… I want to."

"You need to. It's been too long and you are so tired."

"Yes." It was a sob.

"Then let them pass."

For a long moment time seemed frozen, then Jericho moved off the path and the others rushed forward, directly towards the house. Napoleon swallowed and aimed, but at the last minute the leader broke off, racing for the carriage. The others followed, their cries now that of joy. They climbed in and disappeared from view.

"There's room for one more, Jericho."

"Thank you." The cowboy hobbled off and the driver leaned out, offering him a hand. The moment Jericho took it, the carriage was airborne. It was illuminated just once against the moon, then vanished in the night sky.

"All that for a house," Illya murmured as he led the way back into the ranch house. "Makes me sort of happy that I rent."

"Amen to that. I have enough entanglements in my life as it is." Napoleon set his weapon aside, divested himself of his boots, socks and jacket and climbed back into his sleeping bag.

Illya blinked as a shaft of light hit him I the face and he rolled over. His bag was damp and clammy against his skin and he begrudgingly opened his eyes and gasped. Sitting up he looked around wildly.

"Napoleon! Napoleon, wake up!"

There was a murmur from the depths of Napoleon's sleeping bag and Illya reached over to pull the top flap back.

"What is it now, Illya… what the hell?" Napoleon, too, sat up. They were in the middle of an empty field. "Where's the house?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, but if it's all the same to you, I say we skip breakfast and get the hell out of here."

"Right behind you all the way."

Grabbing their gear, they headed to where the horses were grazing. They packed up and rode the trail back to the fork, this time turning right. They would never speak of this again, not even to themselves.

_Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.__  
__**Edgar Allan Poe**__  
_


End file.
